


Coiled

by WahlBuilder



Category: Mars: War Logs
Genre: Coming In Pants, Dom/sub, Erotic Electrostimulation, Fights, Heavy Petting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 19:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Roy is angry with Tenacity, and the resulting built-up charge needs to get rid of. Tenacity has a good idea of how to do it to mutual satisfaction.





	Coiled

Roy is mad. He’s so mad that the room is unsteady around him, that sparks are needling his teeth, and fuck, he’s going to need a discharge, because rebalancing wouldn’t be enough this time.

Finally, _finally_ the door opens—and Tenacity comes in.

Falls in.

Tenacity is drunk—and it makes Roy even more mad.

‘Wha…’

Roy doesn’t wait for Tenacity to gather his wits. He drives a knee right into Tenacity’s stomach—but finds himself caught.

Even pissed as he is, Tenacity has years of survival in him.

Still. He’s drunk. And Roy is mad.

Roy pulls back, slipping from Tenacity’s weak grasp, and punches him in the stomach instead. Tenacity doubles over with a stifled groan—but stumbles back too, away from a hit to the jaw.

Tenacity looks up, his bloodshot eyes bleary. ‘Hello, Roy.’ Talking is obviously difficult after a fist to the guts.

Roy is not finished.

He slips knuckles onto his right hand. ‘Why did you have to do it, you fuck?’ It comes out as a hiss, a crack of electricity. The knuckles are sparkling already, and, in his complete sharp focus on Tenacity, Roy notices how the light eyes glance down at his hand.

‘You have to be more specific, buddy,’ Tenacity grunts, straightening up, reaching under the shawl wrapped over his hips… Pulling out a knife.

Roy doesn’t care.

‘The mine! Why’d you have to collapse it? You _knew_ it would expose the old dome!’

Tenacity grips the knife in his right hand… And Roy can _taste_ how he’s going to run a charge right through the blade— No. No, no, he _has_ to stay in control.

‘Had to drive the Locusts out, boyo. No other choice.’

‘No cho— The Technomancers will swarm!’

‘Roy, I’m—’

He doesn’t listen.

Tenacity is heavier, more experienced in this type of combat—but he’s still inebriated, and Roy has anger and fear on his side. Even though it’s a fight to keep himself from burning everything down.

_The whole world will burn._

He ends up throwing Tenacity on the creaky bed, the knuckles thudding onto the floor, twisting a knife out of Tenacity’s hand and pressing it right to Tenacity’s throat, his other hand bunching up Tenacity’s hair (so soft) and _pulling_.

‘You fuck, do you know what I thought when the whole thing went down,’ Roy hisses into Tenacity’s face, ‘and I was certain that _you were there_?’

Tenacity grins, teeth gleaming wetly. There is darkness smeared over them: Roy must have ruined his lips. ‘Sorry, Roy. Had no time to notify you.’

‘We are _partners_ in this,’ he says, emphasising it with tightening his fist in Tenacity’s hair, ‘and partners don’t do that shit.’

‘No. Yes… Roy, fuck…’

It doesn’t sound like an insult. Instead, the grip of anger eases on Roy, and he notices: Tenacity’s heavy breathing (cheap vodka and blood in it), the way he’s tilting his chin up and the way his mouth is slightly open, the way he’s so tense under Roy but doesn’t try to get out. His half-lidded light eyes.

‘Sorry, _Roy bach_ ,’ Tenacity murmurs, grinning in a way that shows he’s not even remotely sorry (not for this). ‘You get me going like nothing else.’

Roy _doesn’t_ feel the coil of satisfaction in his chest, he doesn’t. But he eases away the blade, dropping it on the bed beside them. ‘Fuck you.’

‘That’s the idea.’

‘And don’t you _bach_ me.’

‘Ройчик?’

‘Go to the Devil.’

‘Already with him.’

Roy nearly leaves, just for that—but there is that look on Tenacity’s face. Sad and soft and sentimental, under the naked hunger.

A hand touches his knee, the one he’s keeping Tenacity’s pinned with. ‘You need to get rid of the charge, Roy.’

‘Like this? If you spilt anything on yourself, it’d catch fire and I’m _not_ putting you out.’

‘Haven’t spilt anything,’ Tenacity arches up even though Roy still has a grip in his hair—and Roy does tighten it, for the pleasure of Tenacity’s moan. ‘Come on, Roy. You know I like it, and you need it, too. I’m not even tipsy anymore.’

‘I’m still mad at you,’ Roy murmurs, just a few breaths away from a kiss and holding tight to Tenacity’s hair to not let him close the distance.

He is mad, but not excessively anymore: he can listen, he can talk. But the charge coursing him, built up from the anxious, terrible hours when he lost himself in searching frantically through the mines, and then discovering that Tenacity is alive, and being worked up over it, that charge is asking for release. Tenacity is right, he needs to get it out—or the world will burn.

Tenacity grins again, the smug bastard. ‘Come on, Majesty.’

Roy pulls at his hair tighter—and Tenacity hisses from pain and arches up, nearly throwing Roy off. There is that glazed expression on Tenacity’s face that Roy knows well.

He eases the grip, pulls away, and Tenacity frowns. ‘Roy, wha—’

‘Stay down.’ He sees how Tenacity goes rigid and then complies.

He takes off his jacket, puts Tenacity’s knife away, then returns on the bed. He doesn’t tell Tenacity to make himself comfortable, to lie down properly. Tenacity’s feet are touching the floor, and his jacket has fallen open over his chest. Perfect.

Roy takes his time looking Tenacity over. Noting how his chest starts rising and falling rapidly, how his stomach flutters. How his electric field starts flaring.

‘Roy…’

He tilts his head. ‘Did I say you may talk?’

Tenacity wisely doesn’t reply. Good.

‘Since you are so bad at being partners,’ he says conversationally, ‘perhaps what you need is _orders_.’

Tenacity’s breath stutters. ‘Roy… Roy, I…’

Perhaps, Tenacity needs this as much as Roy himself.

He puts a hand on Tenacity’s throat, doesn’t grip tight, but it’s there (and Tenacity’s beard is there, too, soft and lush). ‘What’s the word?’

‘Ro—’

‘The _word_ , Tenacity. Or I’ll leave.’

The grey-blue eyes are so light, and, by the spirits, even Tenacity’s eyelashes are red. Roy has to resist the urge to run a finger over the scar on his chin, hidden in the handsome beard.

‘Well?’

‘The word is “mole”, Roy.’

‘Good.’ He plants a quick kiss to Tenacity’s lips as a reward. Cheap vodka, right, and blood—very tempting, but maybe later. He sits up. ‘Hands by your head. And keep them there.’

He watches Tenacity’s face as the hunter complies. Looking for any change, anything that would tell him Tenacity wants to stop—but the hunter’s breathing is quickening, and tumbling out of rhythm, perhaps with him trying to control it.

Roy plans on making him lose control.

‘If you lower your hands, I will stop and have to punish you,’ he warns.

Tenacity doesn’t say anything. Good.

Roy props himself on an elbow, leaning to Tenacity. ‘Close your eyes.’ Tenacity complies once more. Roy brings his hand up to Tenacity’s face, fingertips a hairbreadth away from his forehead. There is enough charge that Tenacity must be feeling it, and Roy extends his field to cover him, slowly, slowly pressing upon him.

Tenacity arches towards his fingers, lips parted, his breath warm on Roy’s palm, and Roy gives him what he wants, touching the skin. The charge is controlled, but Tenacity gasps anyway.

Roy traces the contours of his face: his bushy brows with a red tint, the scar on his right temple, the bridge of his nose, broken so many times, a small scar on the left cheek, the scar hidden in the beard. His lips, wet and dark. He doesn’t let Tenacity catch his fingers with his lips, moves them away, through his beard, over his throat. Tenacity throws his head back, giving himself to the touch.

Roy hooks his fingers in the neckerchief and pulls it off. Strokes where Tenacity’s pulse is fluttering like mad. He can press in, can squeeze it, make Tenacity lose consciousness. Can kill him. Tenacity would probably let him. He would let him bite at his throat, suck a mark on his skin where no scarf can hide it. Later, perhaps.

Roy moves his fingers lower. The jacket is half-open, and he slides his fingers right under, over the bones of Tenacity’s clavicles, diving his thumb where the skin is soft, where there is a groove like on a handsome blade. There is a scar there, too, a faint rise under Roy’s finger, straight and thin. He lets his hand warm up from the charge, and traces the muscles lower, flicks a nail over a nipple. Tenacity sucks in a breath.

Roy smiles. He feels tension coiled in Tenacity, the need to move after the touch, to demand… But Tenacity can’t demand anything here. Only accept what he’s given. Roy presses his palm fully to Tenacity’s ribs, closes his eyes, lets his fingers follow the curve of bones. Listens to, _feels_ the rush of blood. He can make it boil. He can suck the life out of this strong, big body, drain it to the last drop. He moves his palm up over Tenacity’s sternum, coarse hairs starting to turn grey. Rests his palm over the heart, beating so, so fast, right into his hand. Caged. He can dig it out, he can synchronise it with his own heartbeat, can sing it into slowing, slowing until it stops…

Roy has to remember to breathe himself.

‘Please…’

He doesn’t admonish Tenacity, but opens his eyes and pulls his hand away. Tenacity whines—a sound nobody but him knows—and arches, following it,—but Roy shoves him back onto the bed, sending a shock at the point of contact.

Tenacity gasps, eyes flying open.

‘I told you to close your eyes,’ he reminds Tenacity, his fingers—fingertips—the only point of contact, the course of Tenacity’s life right under. Roy moves so he can put his other palm (keeping the charge away from it) over Tenacity’s eyes, and whispers into his ear, ‘ _Feel_.’

He unfurls his field, pressing onto Tenacity’s from every side, as his fingers trace patterns on Tenacity’s chest, drawing Tenacity’s own electricity with it, a dance of power, a living sketchbook for whatever designs he wants.

Tenacity is radiating heat—but Roy’s fingers leave red traces on his chest, hotter than anything. Roy runs his fingers over the long scar under his ribs, sparks visible in the darkening room, and Tenacity squirms away, squirms towards, just squirms, and the jacket and the bed creak, shoulders moving, but Roy brings his lips to Tenacity’s ear to remind him, ‘Hands. Up.’

‘Roy…’ It’s a sobbing plea, and Tenacity’s eyelashes brush his palm, and Tenacity is a constant movement, both after and away from Roy’s hand, their fields coiled tightly, and flaring together.

‘Roy, Roy…’ His name is a whisper, a sob, a whimper, anchoring him to the moment just as Tenacity himself is pinned to the bed, and the built-up charge is a coiled burning white heat, and Roy closes his eyes tight and presses his lips to Tenacity’s cheek, slides his hand into Tenacity’s pants.

And lets himself go.

The world _burns_.

He tries to untangle his awareness from Tenacity, realising he’s murmuring something soothing, stroking Tenacity through a messy, wonderful release, aware that Tenacity is breathing gratitude into his hair, shuddering from the shocks, muscles spasming until exhaustion claims him and Tenacity sinks into the bed.

Roy pulls his hand out of Tenacity’s pants, wipes it on the bed—and gets scooped into big arms and hugged tight.

‘Fuck,’ Tenacity breathes out in the general area of his shoulder.

He kisses Tenacity’s hair absently. He feels likes parts of his consciousness are still scattered somewhat in the room, and that his body is not entirely his. The charge is slowly leaking out, and he is aware that it’s not enough, but with the edge off it gives him—and Tenacity—time to recuperate.

Roy runs his fingers through Tenacity’s soft hair, then tries to smooth it into something more appropriate than the puffed up ball of fur that it looks like. He has to make a conscious effort to remember which language to speak, and how to do it. ‘You good?’

‘More than. Shadow.’ Tenacity rubs his whole face against Roy’s chest, hot and big and so familiar. ‘Every time, so amazing.’

It’s somewhat uncomfortable, lying with his feet dangling over the floor, but he doesn’t want to break out of Tenacity’s tight embrace.

A light eye peers up at him. ‘How about you?’

Finally, he’s aligning with his own body: the taste of metal on his tongue, the heat in his lower abdomen… _Now_ they can have a different kind of fun.

Roy smiles, sweeping a strand of red hair away from Tenacity’s face. ‘I think I should make sure you’ve learnt your lesson.’

From their position, he can’t see Tenacity’s smile, but he can hear it in Tenacity’s voice. ‘Oh, Majesty. Please teach me.’


End file.
